


Turn Back And Say...

by 1f_this_be_madness



Category: Elton John (Musician), Glam Rock RPF, Pop Music RPF, Queen (Band), Rock Music RPF
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Alice in Wonderland References, Band Fic, Banter, Bernie is the best, Best Friends, Brotherly Love, Crying, Declarations Of Love, Drug Addiction, Elton and Bernie are best friends and always will be, Elton in rehab, Elton is a sassy bitch and we love him, Elton is figuring himself out, Elton needs to talk to people, Elton said all these things about himself, Elton wasn't always kind to himself or to others, Epic Friendship, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hugs, I promise!, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Letters, Love, Mentioned Freddie Mercury, Past Drug Addiction, Past Relationship(s), Phone Calls & Telephones, Platonic Relationships, Post-Freddie Mercury's Death, Protective Freddie Mercury, Protectiveness, Reconciliation, References to Addiction, References to Depression, Rehabilitation, Sassy Roger Taylor, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Acceptance, Self-Discovery, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Sex Addiction, Song Lyrics, Starts angsty but ends well, Swearing, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 09:15:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20598350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1f_this_be_madness/pseuds/1f_this_be_madness
Summary: Elton John wants love. That is all he's ever wanted, and now, alone, figuring things out in a rehabilitation facility, he wants to understand what it is heneeds.(Or, it's the 90s when Elton went to rehab and he is mulling over his life and love)





	1. I Never Knew

Elton John is writing letters.

There's buggerall to do in here, besides stare at the walls and walk the grounds and go to therapy sessions, so he writes. Letters to his mum and dad, laced with hatred and pettiness and vitriol that all turns to begging and pleas over why they never loved him, never hugged him, never cared?

...This is why Bernie was the songwriter. Elton never sends those letters; they clutter up his little room and get crumpled, ripped, gather dust; become composed of the ash that is all that's left of his heart, his soul.

He sends letters to John Reid; pathetic, snivelling notes begging to be loved, asking whether he'd been truly, honestly seen at any point in time and please dear GOD will someone bust him out of this awful place?!

... but no, he had put himself in here. Checked in, and he isn't getting out. Not yet.

Elton Hercules John has many more missives to send.

***

He sits in an extremely uncomfortable chair for a group chat. Group therapy. Now there's a laugh, Elton hasn't learned anything from them he wouldn't have realised alone. Eventually. After the eventual calm surrender through the rush of days... Seemingly endless days. 

Doctors are kind enough to do their duty to aid him in detoxing his body and his brain; and yet what Elton requires is a detox of his heart, darling. He's got to deal with love, having it and not having it. Not lost; not unrequited--simply the feeling itself.

With that goal implanted firmly in his mind, the singer's next letter starts off: _To Melina, from Sharon._

"They have to check the letters here," he says to his departed friend. "In case we're receiving contraband. Yet even you would not send me drugs in this place, darling. No; you would tell me to get help, get off my arse and choose to MEAN what I'm doing in here. Mean to recover. Finish what you started, but didn't get the chance to.... Oh but bugger it all, Melina, I'm nothing like you. Haven't got the spirit."

***

He doesn't know when his mind changes. Or mayhap it's his heart that's changed. At least, it has begun to. Recalls Bernie's words: _"...for they know not if it's dark outside or light"_.

"I was a mad hatter, Freddie," he writes. "And not the jolly, silly sort who Alice joined for tea. No, I was the type to smash teacups and light the rabbit's fur afire if I didn't get my way." He imagines Freddie's peal of laughter at that; can practically hear it. Always had the loveliest sense of humour, did Fred. He can almost hear the response of: Darling, it's quite all right to be going slightly mad, or have gone. "Only alright if I haven't hurt anyone," Elton grunts as he writes on. "...But I have."

He's hurt other people in his life. _Bernie._ Instantly Bernie comes to mind. His closest friend in all the world, the one who's stuck around with him through everything. Even when Elton didn't deserve it, Bernie was there. Even when he physically left after Elton made him go, his love remained. Why, the singer now wonders, how did I manage to deserve him? With what I've done? Because he knows now, painfully, feels the fact as he feels a throbbing and clenching sensation in his chest, around his heart.

With what he's done to land himself here, Elton John knows he has hurt Bernie as well as --maybe as much as-- he's hurt himself.

Elton swallows hard. He peeks at the letter he's currently writing to Freddie, and can nearly see his friend's twinkling eyes, hear him encourage Elton to go on, darling, and tell him everything. The singer sighs, running a hand through his thin hair and jerking open the drawer of his little desk. He moves in fits and starts as he withdraws a clean sheet of paper, a pale expanse of possibilities. 

Swallowing hard again, Elton writes now with a slightly-shaking hand. 

_Dear Bernie,_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers,
> 
> I am intrigued by the place where Rocketman stopped its story. From friends who have spent time in various facilities for various reasons, I know people write letters, even just to pass the time inside. I have limited knowledge of day-to-day occurrences in rehab facilities and such, so will not be delving extensively into those here. I hope my limited knowledge comes across respectfully.
> 
> This is me attempting to write Elton to a good place if I can. I've included lyrics from one of my favorite Elton and Bernie compositions, 'Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters'. Along with some from another song of theirs--can you guess it? ;) 
> 
> Melina and Sharon were affectionate drag names that Freddie and Elton refered to one another by, according to Elton himself.
> 
> I hope you will enjoy this piece. Reactions appreciated <3


	2. Rose Trees Never Grow...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elton's letter to Bernie

_ I cannot imagine what you must think of me. Well, actually, I can; and if you think even a bit of what, or half as strongly as I do, I'm sure that you will burn this letter and never speak to me again. And I would deserve that too. It's fully justified, my dearest Bern-- I have been abominable to you._

_One of the credos here is to take responsibility, own up to what one has done wrong and accept it. Nice thought, but I think it's bollocks to do that simply because some doctor says to, so if anyone from this facility comes calling don't mention my writing this. Just tell them all the horrible things I've done to you over the years, without remorse. I'm sure that you can think of plenty to expound upon in your colourful vernacular, darling._

_... I was a child, Bernie. Worse-- I was as thoughtless and petulant and selfish as a child but with the understanding of an adult. I knew what I was doing with it all, coke and carousing and coitus--how d'you like that alliteration? Nowhere near to your way with words I'm afraid. --I knew that I ought to stop, but didn't. Didn't listen to you or John or anyone, least of all myself. I mean the tiny, reasonable part of me. The one that listened to my Nan. The bit that loves you. That bit is the core of me, Bernie, and it's the part I'm trying to listen to now._

_I know it's a laugh, me attempting to be reasonable, sensible. You've always been the sensible one. You saved my life with that, Bernie. You did. And I'm sorry that I never realised. Never let myself see that you don't love me in the way I so selfishly demanded for you to. No; you love me in the way that I needed. The way I still need, so if you can, I'm asking you to forgive me, please. And if you can't, just know I love you and thank you so much. For everything._

_I am, and remain always, your Reggie._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a hypothetical letter based on the possibility of healing, of finding acceptance, and of learning from past mistakes through knowledge, understanding, and rehabilitation. I do not presume to know how Elton feels, but this is how I see his thoughts on Bernie and what he's done over the years.
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	3. Unless They See The Sky...

Bernie Taupin chuckles and sighs in turns as he reads the letter that Reggie wrote to him. 

Of course he locates the flamboyance of Elton Hercules John in abundance throughout the writing, and manifold emotions roil within his heart. He gasps a bit at the last, eyes growing wet with tears. Bernie knows he does not have to reach out to Elton right away; if his friend truly does not expect Bernie's forgiveness, he likely will not expect a reply. And Bernie hasn't got one anyway--nothing coherent, at least. All he knows is that he aches with anguish and sorrow and rage, guilt and regret and love.

He is incredibly happy to see that Reg seems to be finding his way back to himself at long long last. He only wishes, Bernie violently wishes it hadn't taken this much hell and heartache. Doesn't know if he can forgive Elton. Oh, of course he can be glad that his old friend is still there down inside, as Bernie always believed. He never lost sight and is honestly relieved, and gladdened. He loves this man still, and continues reassuring himself that underneath Elton John, Reginald Dwight is still there. Bernie loves him so very much.

But love lies bleeding, for Bernie wonders what will truly help Reggie, and him. What course of action is best for both of them? Or ought he to do nothing? He had Reggie, and only Reggie, for a while at the beginning before recognising the issues inherent in that, in pinning one's hope, and love, and life around one person. Even a friend. ESPECIALLY a friend.

But now Bernie has other things, a life of his own; home, family, friends. He has Reggie, but he wonders if Reggie needs him, or if this is a coping mechanism to stop the bleeding, so to speak. If Bernie's love and forgiveness is a bandage, a tourniquet to staunch the flow of self-loathing Elton feels, and to cease taking drugs, if he focuses on something specific. In this case, someONE, Bernie... but that hurts too much, because Bernie only wants to help, to really help his friend. His brother. He yearns, he aches; he wonders what to do.

***

Elton John is trying to be patient.

He got into the habit of now, now, now--wanting a drink, a smoke. Don't feel good? Snort some coke now. Down in the dumps? Buy ten hundred, ten thousand quid worth of clothing and accessories. Don't hear back from Bernie? Well, now he has to wait.

And wait.

It's strange, because this facility is not a prison, and the group does activities together other than group therapy--just last week they all completed a jigsaw puzzle as a team. Oh joy! This week is arts and crafts, or board games, if one is up for those. Elton is tapping his fingers and bouncing one leg where he sits in a chair across from the television at the rear of the room. The day room. A lovely day room, he thinks sarcastically. Such an original and exciting name, that. He is ready to stand up and stride out, back to his personal quarters to curl up in bed, though the doctors say not to do that.

He has an old piano, they brought it in for him to play. An act of kindness, that, but one wasted in Elton's eyes. He is nowhere near ready to play again. Not yet.

...He wants to talk to someone. There is a payphone out in the hallway, free use for patients if they ask a nurse. And there is a block of time on Sundays where every patient is allowed the chance to make a phone call. Most call spouses or children or friends, sometimes parents. Because Elton has never had use for a phone of his own, he's memorised no numbers but his mum's. And bollocks to calling her and speaking voluntarily. He cannot bear even the thought of doing that after their previous phone conversations.

Elton wishes he knew numbers for friends, and that he had the guts to reach out. That is the real bitch of it. He could call someone else; he'd been lying to himself about only knowing his mother's phone number by heart. He's got to stop doing that, the compulsive lying to spare his feelings. It only causes him to sink, makes him numb.

Another phone number he knows by heart is Bernie's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to reference "Funeral For A Friend (Love Lies Bleeding)" via Bernie's thoughts because it's such a powerful song. Is Elton going to call Bernie? Who knows...
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	4. But They Can't, And That Is Why

Bernie has to be the one to choose to contact Elton. And Elton has to wait for contact, to give him time. 

This facility is big on waiting. It's a metaphorical antidote to the effects of drugs, of addiction itself, in a way; because then, with drugs it was always now, now, now. Gimme, gimme, gimme. I need my fix, my lay, my royalties, my fame. Instant gratification. Always.

But now it is a waiting game. Waiting for forgiveness, for absolution. For change-- for enough to happen that one begins truly feeling well. Elton is informed of this by others at first, and then begins informing himself. 

He sits outside a while on this particular day; the days have started to run together here, but he's developed a routine of watching denizens of the farms that exist alongside this rehab place. Next door, so to speak. Today he's got his eye on chickens. 

"Terrifying ruddy birds, those are," a familiar high voice comes up beside him with its owner. "Never liked 'em; they always seem to want to peck me to death. Not a picnic, lemme tell you."

Elton startles, whirls on his bench to see a man about his own height, wearing a pair of small round sunglasses and dark jeans, white button-down shirt and a black jacket. His spiky blond hair ruffles in the wind. Though he stands stiller than typical and wears a more monochromatic, subdued and muted colour palette than usual, his cheeky grin remains intact. "Roger bleeding Taylor." Elton lets out an almost-laugh as he shakes his head, offering a hand. "What--what are you doing here?"

Roger comes round the bench on which Elton is sitting, taking his hand briefly, other hand shoved into his jeans pocket as his jaw jumps and he asks "Mind if I sit?" 

"Please do, darling," Elton half-rises, unsure whether the other man would care to hug him or not. But no; that's too much, especially as Roger winces a little at the word choice, the use of a loving epithet that was always Freddie's. His throat bobs and eyes bulge, as he'd taken off his glasses for a bit. He's close enough to the other for Elton's face to be clear. Elton flushes, but his mortification is somewhat mitigated when Roger sits, clasping his shoulder.

"Cheers, Elton," Roger says. "I've, erm. Well, I've been travelling a bit since..." he doesn't finish his sentence, but the subsequent words hang pendulous in air nevertheless: _since we lost Freddie._ Roger's eyes appear broken, and though his facial features are still mobile, his restful expression is solemn. Not sullen nor cheeky nor excitable as Elton remembers. He is sure he appears vastly different as well; dark-rimmed glasses, drab colours, neither feathers nor a sparkle to be seen. "Haven't been able to pick up a drumstick. Good for my figure," Roger quips. "But y'know how dire things are if I'm not drumming." His face pinches, saddens as he takes in the other man's diminished appearance, and thinks about him not playing either. Surely, being here... "I'm sorry, EJ," he begins, but Elton waves the apology off.

"Don't be, dear. Things are dire indeed."

Those words, that tone, everything about it makes Roger hurt. His eyes fill and he clears his throat, and Elton's eyes are swimming now too. His hands begin to tremble and he clenches them together.

"Oh, Roger, I--"

"Don't," Roger's high sweet voice is a quiet croak. He pats Elton on the hand and attempts to smile. "You told ME not to apologise, so shut up with that, alright? Freddie would hate this, you know," the blond adds as he curls his fingers around Elton's, gripping his hand. "...Us wallowing in all our fucking grief and self-pity."

Elton's chin automatically comes up, his eyes flashing, but he does not say anything snippy in response, because Roger is right. He IS wallowing, and Freddie would not approve. "He would tell us to get up off our arses and find some joy." Elton sniffles as he clutches Roger's hand, tears spilling over. "But oh, it's so hard, Roger."

The drummer nods. "Try almost bloody impossible some days. Not for me, but you--and Brian's going through his own personal hell." He stops abruptly, relinquishing his hold on the other's hand.

Elton leans in, catching the abrupt halt. "And Deacy?" he asks.

Roger shrugs. "I dunno. He doesn't talk."

Elton's hand trembles again and he feels slightly ill as he swallows. "I--I'm becoming familiar with that feeling." He catches the drummer's eyes and Roger's widen a little as he registers what Elton is saying, who he is referring to.

"Got stubborn bastards that we love, and we're two 'a the most stubborn of all," Roger intones, clapping his hand onto Elton's right knee bracingly. "But we're gonna get through by getting on." He stretches himself out luxuriously now, like a rumpled golden cat, and bounces to his feet. "We've got to. Now, what the fuck is there to do around here?"

***

Elton takes Roger on a tour of the place, explaining as much as he can about what goes on at this facility. "You're more medical-minded than me, so this prob'ly makes more sense to you on its own than what I'm saying," the singer pushes his glasses up his nose as he shrugs apologetically, standing in the empty group-therapy room.

Roger snorts. "Mate, I know biology and dentistry, not therapy. Can't bloody tell you how the human mind works, I dunno how MINE does!"

Both men begin to guffaw at that. 

"Would you say you're going slightly mad?" Elton inquires laughingly. 

Roger's hooded eyes widen again. "Oh there's no going, Elton--at this point I've up and gone completely, utterly mad."

"Me too," Elton agrees, smiling fondly as he wipes his eyes. 

They move on, Elton taking Roger to see his room. He hesitates at the door, hand around the knob, and feels a burst of shame overwhelming him, makes him bend double, nearly fall. "Roger, you don't want to see this, it's hell." He whirls and presses his back to the door, waving his free arm wildly, gesticulating at all of this. "I've done it to myself, you know. Put myself in here, and--and now my oldest friend in the world, the closest--he may never speak to me again. And I'd... I deserve it, too. I don't even know why YOU are here!" He throws both arms out now before pressing fists to his forehead, hysterical and breathing hard.

Elton expects Roger to leave, to call someone else to deal with hysterical diva Elton John, to back away slowly because he isn't here for that, he shouldn't have to deal with it.... But Roger Taylor is better than that. More importantly, in his own estimation, he has dealt with outbursts such as these. And he has been in Elton's position before. Well, not precisely, but somewhat. "Easy," Roger's high tone is a gentle growl. "Let it out, EJ. I'm here with you, mate." The drummer puts a strong hand upon the singer's shaking shoulder. He crouches alongside him as Elton sinks to the floor, shuddering. "Y' wanna know why I'm here, how I got here?" Roger asks softly as he rubs Elton's shoulder in a rhythmic fashion, leaning into him. He clears his throat as Elton sniffles hard and nods at him, swallowing. "--Bernie told me where you were." Elton's head shoots up as the other continues. "Brian called him. Apparently they've been talking. Bri... he's going through some things. Shite, like we all are, but." Roger's voice cracks. "He doesn't talk to me. Trying to be strong, I think. Doesn't want me to worry about his ridiculous arse. Which is bollocks." Roger blinks hard, fingers digging into Elton's skin a little before he realises and loosens them. "Sorry, mate. Anyhow, Bernie called me. Talked about Bri, and--and I asked him about you. 'Course I did. He said you wrote to him, yeah?" Elton nods, wiping his nose, letting out little hiccoughs as his breathing calms and he listens intently to Rog. "Ah, Elton," the blond man leans his soft head against Elton's. "He loves you, you know."

Elton lets out a sob. It means so much to hear someone else say that, validate what is his dearest hope. And someone like Roger in particular, who has friendships as close and long-standing as Elton and Bernie's. But he whimpers, cannot keep himself from admitting his biggest fear: "I know, but...what if he doesn't write me back? I said I'd--I wouldn't blame him if he isn't able to forgive me, but if he cuts me out of his life...," Hands clenching around his knees, face rising; piteous, blotchy, trembling. "If he does that, I don't think I'd...that I'll be able to bear it." Whimpering now and hating it, "Roger, I can't lose him. I can't--I can't push anybody else away."

All of Roger's strength leaves him as he collapses to sit beside Elton, arm shaking, chin too. Oh god. "Neither can I," he croaks as he sits with arm dropping around the other man's shoulders. He thinks of John and Brian. Especially Brian. With a sharp pain in his chest, Roger bites his lip and ducks his head, feathery blond locks falling forward across his forehead. His voice is infinitesimal. "Oh, Elton. Neither can I." Lips trembling, Elton shifts himself to face Roger and wraps both arms around him, pulling the drummer against his chest. A bit of rusty-coloured hair pokes out of his shirt collar, tickling Roger's cheek as the drummer buries his face into the singer's torso. 

They hold onto one another there, in the empty hallway. No other words need be said; these two men understand each other without having anything to say. 

Elton Hercules John is incredibly glad that Roger Meddows Taylor came to visit him today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good ol' Roger in his cheekiness and decency. I really do think he and Brian and John can understand some of what Elton is going through; and Brian and Bernie have some similarities that could beget a kinship, I think. Though this is hypothetical, I really do think (and hope) Rog and Elton are close friends.
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	5. They Know Not

_You may not believe it, but I don't believe in miracles anymore. And when I think about it, I don't know if I ever did for sure..._

How sad is that? Bernie wonders. When did his lyrics get so obviously cynical? If this even is a lyric; it's more like what's been eternally bouncing around his head since he read Reggie's letter. He's thought long and hard about it. It would be a miracle for Reg to be okay, for Bernie to forgive him, for the pair of them to resume their lives and work after this. And yet, it's a very human miracle, an achievable goal if they both work for it.

_All the things I've said in songs, all the purple prose you brought for, no, from me--reality's so black and white, the sentimental things I'd write, they never meant that much to me..._

Bernie sighs and drops his pen, roughing up his hair, clearing his throat heavily. There is something here, something that could be a song-- but there is also the personal pathos. He's lost his romantic sentimentality, and so has Reggie. Life has done this to the pair of them, but he is--he hopes they both are--still chugging along.

_I used to be the main express, all steam and whistles heading west. Picking up my pain from door to door, riding on the storyline, furnace burning overtime! But this train don't stop, this train don't stop. This train don't stop there anymore._

He thinks of all he's done and loved and lost, and what Elton has, who Elton has. Who is still here? He thinks of Roger and Brian and John, of what Brian in particular said to him when they spoke, and he feels selfish suddenly for acting this way when their friend, their brother is GONE. His is still here, for how long he doesn't know, but at least he's here.

_You don't need to hear it, but I'm dried-up and sick to death of love. If you need to know it, I never really understood that stuff. All the scars and bleeding hearts, all the tears that welled up in my eyes. Never meant a thing to me; read 'em as they say and weep I never felt enough to cry..._

He's here. 

_I used to be the main express ..._

_When I say that I don't care it really means my engine's breaking down. The chisel chips my heart again, the granite cracks beneath my skin, I crumble into pieces on the ground...!_

Bernie is still here, and Elton is still here. And by, through everything, they still need each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I know that "This Train Don't Stop Here Anymore" came out in 2001, but the lyrics felt like they belonged in this piece as Bernie muses over his connection to his friend. He will be doing some more thinking for sure
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	6. If It's Dark Outside

Elton John stares at the payphone. At the blank brick wall of his rehabilitation facility, the echoes of thoughts, of footsteps, of memories from his past life knocking at and burning through his brain. The thought that he had come here to be better, to get better, because he didn't want to die-- he lost too many people, often due to his lifestyle, or theirs. It, all that information, the realisation; every one of his thoughts pound through not just his head, but his entirety. As if to shatter his bulk and end his being. And he's tired of it, of losing. He does not want-- he cannot bear-- to lose anybody else in his life. 

Hopes no one he loves wants to lose him either, but wonders privately whether or not the horrid phrase _"good riddance!"_ would be on their tongues. It would certainly be upon Reid's lips, yet that bastard's thoughts do not matter to Elton anymore.

No, the only face and voice that fills his mind is Bernie's. 

"Fucking call him," Roger had said before he departed on his visitation day. "Hell, call me if you need a sounding board. I've actually GOT one of those mobile phones. Oh the horror," the drummer waggled his expressive eyebrows and widened his hooded eyes, making Elton smile. "But seriously, mate, you're gonna be all right." 

Roger had clapped him on the shoulder then, and Elton piteously asked "How do you know, Roger?"

"Because Freddie watched out for you, and now I'm watching too. And I know that you're taking care of yourself."

"First time in my life," Elton returned, and they shared a laugh. 

"Ta, Elton."

"Thank you, Roger."

He stands here now, in the hall, staring at the mouthpiece and the receiver of the phone on the wall in its cradle. Should really just pick up the phone and dial, it's a little bloody thing, neither taxing nor strenuous. It's nothing that should cause him to hesitate this much. No, naught but the possibility of not getting an answer; or perhaps worse, definitely worse, an answer and rejection. Telling him never to call again. Elton's stomach roils, he gasps and feels ill as he bares his teeth and grasps the curve of the phone with shaky, numbing fingers. "It's only one bloody phone call," he hisses. "Get ahold of yourself, Elton!"

Elton lifts the phone as an achingly familiar and amused voice speaks behind him. "--Yet it's never 'only' anything, with you, all of life is dramatic." Elton gasps and whirls around, his eyes locking onto a gaze crinkled with fond kindness, fair features, dark hair. As quick-witted as ever, the person continues "Frankly I'm impressed you recall how those things work," indicating the phone "--since you've never had one of your own."

Elton chokes on a laugh even as his eyes fill with tears. He can vocalise nothing past the lump in his throat but a croaking, wrecked "Bernie,"

Bernie Taupin's eyes are misty and gentle and warm over his soft smile as he lifts one hand in a wave. "Hey, Reg."


	7. ...Or Light

Bernie stares, takes in the sight of his friend as Elton smiles, his glasses magnifying his tears as the songwriter moves swiftly to grip him in a secure embrace. 

"Oh god, Bernie," Elton trembles and sobs, face falling into his friend's slim shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

As his oldest mate cries as if his heart is breaking, Bernie holds on tighter, his own eyes starting to prickle and then fill as well. "I'm sorry too, Elton," he whispers, stroking his friend's thin red hair. "I'm sorry too." But he is here now. "Come on," he makes his tone light with immense effort after they hold one another, sobbing, for minutes on end. "Let's get out of this building, yeah? Get out in the sun."

"You always want to be out in nature, listening to the birds and that," Elton teases, wiping his eyes.

"Back to the howlin' old owl in the woods," Bernie quips in response, lacing his arm through the other man's. "Who knows, maybe we can hunt down a horny-backed toad."

The singer shudders. "Darling, if I see even a HINT of a ghastly creature like that I'll be taking off in the opposite direction."

"Who says I won't protect you?" Bernie asks with a grin.

Elton's eyes go wide. "Would you, then?" He breathes. 

Bernie makes a show of pondering before his mouth starts twitching. "Nah, 'fraid you're on your own."

Elton gasps and clutches his chest in dramatic horror. "You'd leave me to be menaced by a toad as you laughed in the background, certainly."

"Most definitely." Bernie's face is crinkled into an affectionate grin, all traces of sorrow gone. Yet though his features are mirthful, his tone is serious as he adds "But I'd never leave you to face it alone."

His words refer to far more than a hypothetical encounter with wildlife, and Elton's heart soars to hear that. To know that his dearest friend is here and will not leave. He still doesn't believe he deserves Bernie, but he will work to, for all of his life. 

Cuddles into his friend's side as Bernie wraps one arm around him, pulling Elton close, walking with him out along the path, his path. May not be good, but he is getting better--and Bernie is beside him, providing faith and warmth, love and light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus ends this piece of friendship. Bernie hasn't said he forgives Elton, but they will do whatever they can for one another, and I truly appreciate the strength of their bond. 
> 
> *Elton John has said he doesn't carry a mobile phone, even now, and that's where Roger and Bernie's cheeky comments came from.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this, comments always appreciated <3


End file.
